


Right person... wrong time?

by Luxi_Storyteller



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Cop!Lexa, F/F, If you read LHLYAC then you get to see adult Octavia Trikru-Griffin, Love Story, Mom!Lexa, Present Day AU, Smut, Why LGBTQ fans need more representation, friend's with benefits?, mentions of drug abuse, mentions of self harm, principal!clarke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 13:17:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6856405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luxi_Storyteller/pseuds/Luxi_Storyteller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke and Lexa dated six years ago. Lexa didn't choose Clarke the first time, so Clarke chose someone else... neither worked out and six years later Clarke signs up for a dating site. On her top ten matches is Lexa. Clarke is not sure that meeting with Lexa again is the best idea but they fall into a fragile friendship that turns dirty with a can of paint and one word: "Naked."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“If I knew you were going to not help and just lecture me about my _poor_ life choices, I wouldn’t of asked you to come help,” I call out over the sander that is stripping away the previous maple stain and varnish from the dresser.

I don’t hear her response, so I glance up from the drawer my foot is holding still. Lexa shoots me a cheeky smile from the canvas folding chair where she leans back with her long legs extended out comfortably. I don’t spend too long staring at her legs. Nope. Just like I don’t have a small issue with her pulling the long neck amber bottle from the netted cup holder, or how she takes a long drink as condensation caked the sawdust to her tanned skin. With a thick swallow her smirk returns, because she totally catches me staring at her throat.  

Voice loud, she answers, “Look I get it, you wanna change the world and all that. But Clarke, raising kids is hard.” She takes another drink, as I roll my eyes and return to my work that she is taking another break from. I don’t expect her confession, “I mean fuck, Cos and I’ve raised Aden since birth and I am still fucking this shit up. Cos informs me so every fucking chance she gets, in fact.”

I shut off the sander even though I’m not done. Giving Lexa my full attention, I study the way she examines the bottle wrapped in her long fingers. Her thumb swiping back and forth over the green label.

A bead a sweat threatens to slide down my brow so I wipe at the sweat with my forearm, instantly regretting the streak that I must have just left with sawdust and probably grime. I need a fucking shower.

Not sure what to say, I tell her, “Lexa, you’re not fucking up your son. You just can’t be his friend all the time.”

My empty blue bucket sitting by Lexa’s legs becomes a release of frustration. Her foot extends and swipes it away. The scratch loud as it slides over the floor and slams into the metal utility shelf.

Pale green eyes lift to meet mine as she says, “I get two nights a week, weekends that she works, and summer vacations, what else are we supposed to do besides play?”

Chewing on the dried skin of my lower lip, I take in Lexa and all the ways that she makes me a mess of emotion. Remembering that I need to keep a grip on my secret wish to be the one she wants, even though she has tired to fix things. But our fragile friendship is still shaky after six years apart.

Shaking my head, I attempt to refresh my mind to something other than her perfect jawline or the way her throat bobs as she leans back to drain the rest of the bottle.

“You’re a great mom, Lex,” I try again but Lexa is out of her seat. Her mind clearly needing and taking a different path.

There's a slight bounce in her knees as she sways her ass to and fro to the dirty song that comes blaring through the bluetooth speaker connected to Lexa’s 6s Edge. Sultry movements that have the blood rushing to my cheeks as I think about all those years ago when Lexa used those moves in a dimly lit bar to press up against my ass and ran her hands down my thighs. A dance that almost led us to my bed on the night that she decided to go home, which ended up not being her apartment but to the house where her son slept with her then separated wife.  

I bend down to open the can of paint. Really I just need to distract myself from her movements that take me back down Memory Lane, which dead ends at the junction of What If Ave. and Poor Life Choice Drive.

the beat though ceases to be the only movement playing on my skin. Lexa’s fingers are on my hips. Bringing herself flush with where I'm bent over struggling with the flat head screwdriver against the lid of the paint can.

I stand up, knowing that I can’t handle her hands on me like that without pressing back into her. As I rise though, her lips are right next to my ear, and she whispers in her buzzed southern drawl, “You don’t have to do this whole big kids thang. We could totally make it happen the old fashioned way.” I feel her swaying against me, and for a second I consider what it would mean to be naked with Lexa and practicing procreating.

Unfortunately though this is not the first time I’ve felt her body against mine. And even more sadly I am not unfamiliar to Lexa’s shitty sexual innuendos. I don’t want to fall back into being the girl that will do anything for her though, so without warning I swipe backwards. The back of my hand catching her in the cunt and pulling an, “umph,” from her lips as she falls forward against my back and steadies herself against me.

“You seem to be missing some parts to make the old fashioned way possible,” I retort, turning with satisfaction that quickly fades as I see the brunette’s pout. Her lower lip extended just enough that I could take it between mine, or even just get lost in large, pale innocent eyes. My breath catches momentarily as I consider saying _fuck it_ , and go after what I have wanted for so long.

But I can’t be that person anymore.

Turning away from her, I grab the brush and push it into her hand. I’m not fast enough though because the softness of her fingers are running over my mine, and we are kinda holding hands with the paint brush.

“You don’t have to-”

I cut her off and snap a little as I say, “I asked you to help me, not distract me. I don’t need you to tell me you don’t want me to foster. I can call my mom if I wanna have that conversation again. Just help me paint the fucking dresser.” Without looking at her, I pry open the can of satin white paint.

Lifting the can, I place it on the step stool. Lexa seems to get the picture that I am not in the mood for her shenanigans because she takes a seat next to the stool and reaches up to dip the brush into the can. With paint all the way up to the metal holding the bristles, she slaps it against the side the wood and proceeds to smear it.

 _I must have hurt her pride_ , I decide as I search around for my own brush. The drawers of the dresser are every where in the messy garage. I've got to clean this place out, and momentarily I start placing things in my mind. Losing track of what I'm doing.

It takes me just long enough to almost forget I put her to work as I grab hold of a paint brush and staat to put it away. I stop though when Lexa whine, “You bring me over here to slave away and now you’re not even going to paint with me?” The pout is back, along with the tantalizing lower lip.

Lifting the paint brush that I’ve found, I shake it at her. “Put the fucking lip away you big baby.”

“Parenting 101, you can only say fuck when little people can’t hear,” she provides, and I can’t help but smile.

I smile because she has  swear jar at her house that is overflowing with bills and coins. With a soft chuckle, I ask, “Like last week when you put the dollar in ‘fuck you jar’ before we started making dinner and told Aden the day was a ‘shitastic day’ and that you were going to have a very inappropriate conversation with me?”

She slaps the brush against the wood again, and nods as she said, “Ye-pp.” Then she adds, “I can’t believe my son stayed just to tally every fucking word and at dinner informing me that I owed another three fifty for ‘vulgar language’.” She shakes her head. “We have to play, because his other mother teaches him to say things like vulgar language.”

I dip my brush within the paint, and proceed to clean up the catastrophe that Lexa is making on the side of my dresser. If she doesn’t get her shit together, I am going to have to resand this whole damn side to start over again.

“The kid is eleven and knows that if he stands by you’re going to swear enough to pay for a 1967 Shelby Mustang GT500 for his sixteenth birthday,” I remind her.

“Shouldn’t have shown him _Gone in Sixty Seconds_ ,” she responds. “ _Fast and the Furious_ at least would have made him want a Civic.. or a Jetta.” She reaches over, takes my half full beer, and drinks from the bottle like germs don’t exist.

I don’t have an answer for her predicament. I’m not sure how she managed to get away with showing Aden a movie about carjacking without Costia shitting literal bricks. My brush is back in the paint, but my eyes are not watching it. Nope, because I am watching Lexa flopping her brush around with a limp wrist, and appreciating the perfect angle to see the black bra down her slightly baggy tank top.

Yes, Lexa’s boobs distract me enough that I don’t notice the way my brush catches on the can. Or that it is about to fall. Or that Lexa is in the direct path of its decent.

None of this is noticeable until the white paint spreads in the air before coating her shoulder, her shirt, and drenches the brown curls that were flying freely and now lay limply against her paint smeared face.

“Did you just…” she starts. Her hands out from her body, and her head turning slowly to see me. See my hand covering my mouth to keep from laughing. “Are you… laughing?”

Without moving my hand, I shake my head left and right. Then I snort.

Lexa stands. Paint dripping off of her, as she twirls the brush in her hand. I step back. I know. There is no question that she is going to try to cover me in paint. None at all, because Lexa believes in the eye for an eye concept. Believes in blood for blood, or paint for paint.

I turn to run, but her hand catches the back of my pants. I feel the paint from her hand spread over the skin of my lower back. The force of her pull reigns me in, and warm liquid seeps through my shirt. Drips run down my arms as she wraps her arm around my waist and again pulls my ass into her.

“You painted me, and then you run like a criminal?” She growls in my ear. Her paintbrush coming up. Like a dagger she taunts me before running the bristles over my throat and then my chest. “I guess that means I will have to repay you slowly. I'll be bad cop this time, I know you like me like that." My mind flashes to the handcuffs I'm sure are in her car. She doesn't need to secure me though. We both know I have a hard time functioning when she is this close.

The bristles dip between my breasts only to be pulled back again. Her paint covered hand runs over my stomach and smears the satin white with sawdust and sweat in finger lines to match her nails that she drags over my skin. Her hand holding me like this cause my head lto fall back and I paint my own hair with what she is covered in as an unlady like moan erupts from my throat.

Her lips on my ear have me losing control, and the buzzing in my blood is not helping the situation. "We could..." Her unfinished offer has waves of need running through me. 

I try to sound convincing, as I tell her, “You need to get in the shower before the paint dries in your hair.” It seems to get her attention, because she releases me to become a silent panting mess.

Eight foot steps and the sound of one shoe dropping then the other, tells me she is walking away from this fight. The door from the house to the garage opens and then slams shut. I feel like I need a very cold shower, and even more, I need to get the fuck off so I can stop imagining her legs tangled with mine.

I pull off my shoes as well before entering the house. The water is running not in the guest bathroom, but definitely from my bathroom at the back of the house. Of course she would take a shower in _my bathroom._

“Lexa!” I call out. I don’t get an answer, so I make my way to the back of the house. My feet cross the threshold to my bedroom. Ten more steps, I enter the bathroom that’s door is still open wide for me. I find her clothes balled up in the trash can, but there is no sound of movement in the water. “Lex, you okay?” I ask.

The curtain is thrown back, and I jump. My hands coming up to hit the counter behind me, as I take in the full Lexa. Her toned abs and slightly paler perky breasts. The darker pink nipples erect and paint smeared still. Her hair is still white for the most part and limp, and she is glaring at me.

“Naked,” she says, and I’m not sure why but I start to strip. Pulling off my shirt and putting it in the trash can with her clothes. I step out of my shorts and kick them to the ground, because I feel those may be salvageable.

I watch her eyes grow darker, and the predatory gaze has me stuttering in my movements. My mind catching up with the fact that I’m getting naked. Baring my body for Lexa. For the eyes that once left me. And I start to second guess what I am doing.

She steps out of the bathtub. The water still running down her skin, as her left hand reaches out, slides around my waist, and pulls me against her. Her right hand coming up to the back of my neck where she dips down to close the four inch height difference.

There’s no thinking when her lips meet mine. Nothing but flashes of lights behind my eyes. Heat spreading through my chest. Her fingers popping open the clasp of my bra and then dropping down to pull my ass in closer to her.

My ability to stop what may be a disaster in the making is further impeded, as she tugs down the black lace panties that were still at rest on my hips. Her fingers finding my wet heat that I want to blame on working in the garage when it is 90 plus degrees out, but there's no denying that I am wet solely for her. Solely for how badly I want the way she slides her finger through my folds and presses against my entrance, and then within.

No, I’m not thinking about mistakes anymore because she builds a careful rhythm that presses within me so pleasantly that I am panting into our kiss. The kiss she began but that I am owning. Because her fingers may be in me, but my tongue is in her. Stroking against the roof of her mouth as she pulls forward and runs her finger along my frontal wall.

My legs shake so she steps closer and my ass rests against the counter. Her hands leaving me just long enough to put me atop the counter and pull my unclasped bra from my chest. She takes a moment to examine my bare body before her. My legs spread wide on the counter and heaving breasts.

I bite my lip worring that maybe this will change her mind, but she whispers, “You’re more beautiful than I could have ever imagined,” as she surges forward once more. She plunges back within me with two fingers and lips lock over my left nipple sucking eagerly as my hands come up to squeeze her paint filled hair.

I try to remain calm and composed, but within seconds my breathing is strangled and I am begging like a wanton whore, for Lexa to, “Please. Fuck me.”

My shameless confession, “I’ve waited six fucking years to feel you in my pussy," follows shorty after. To which she growls, lowers herself to her knees and licks up my clit.

My head hitting the mirror behind me, and I’m surprised it doesn’t break and shatter in shards all around us. Another seven years of bad luck and bad timing. But it's doesn't break. Maybe it's a sign that this time it’s not the wrong time for an "us." Maybe it’s finally our time, or at least I can hope.

That’s really all I can do. I swear her tongue is spelling out her name over my clit to claim me as hers. Or that my fingers are gripping her hair so tightly that she can't’ pull back even if she wants to, because this time she is not running away from me.

No, this time, I scream out, “Lexa! Please. Don’t. Stop.” Especially when her lips pull at my clit and I feel her teeth graze over the pulsing place.

There is nothing but us as I feel my abs tighten, a fire tightening in my belly. My hips spreading wider, and giving her even more room to bury her face in deeper as her fingers pick up tempo and spread within. Stroking the frontal wall that sends electric sparks flying up through me and the back wall that makes my back arch and cry out, “Fuck, just like that!”.

My body shivering in excitement, when her free hand comes up and her nails ghost over the skin covering my ribs, then higher where the deft fingers twist my nipple and have me screaming even louder. Screaming thanks to a god that I don’t believe in for making Lexa.

“I’m going to…” but I can’t finish, because she has honed in on exactly what I want and her tongue presses against me harder. Her hand slamming into my cunt as my walls collapse first, followed by my legs tightening around her neck to hold her in place.

My eyes closed, I can feel my body spasming and as I cry out more thanks to Lexa, to dressers needing to be refinished, and to okcupid.com. Her profile picture flashing in my vision along with her suited self stepping out of her car two weeks later to make amends.  

And I hope… this time she’s the right person, and for us it’s the right time… maybe.


	2. Chapter 2

**~Lexa~**

With one hand holding on to the window ledge, I brace myself in order to stay standing as the water streams down my still paint covered shoulder. I should be washing my hair while the paint is still wet, but that is definitely not an option right now. I can’t do anything but stare down at the big blue fucking eyes staring up at me.

Fear is keeping me from blinking. Terror that her tongue stroking my clit for the first time is just a dream. Another figment of my fucked up imagination and if I close my eyes she is going to disappear and I am going to be in my bed just a soaked mess. A lock of hair gets in her face and she closes her eyes. Her pink soft tongue comes out farther as she backs up just a smidge and I watch as it runs upward and then she flicks it several times over again against the tip.

It's been a long, long time since anyone has given me head. I want to brush the hair from her face only so I can pull her into my wanton pussy by it. I don’t want to upset her though, even if this is just dream Clarke.

Clarke fucking Griffin.

The one that I could never stop thinking about, worrying about, and dreaming about. And if this is real, and not a dream, then she is finally giving me a chance. She’s finally letting me show her that I am not going to walk away this time.

Her hand moves up my thigh, against the path of the water. Sprinkles shooting up and over her face, and I can’t help it any longer. I need to see her eyes again. I pull the strand of hair from her face and use it as my excuse to at least card my fingers through the drenched tresses.

Her hand that was making its way up my thigh leaves my skin. My eyes wider than possible begging her not to stop as that same hand covers the one I have in her hair. I’m about to pull my hand away when she squeezes my fingers closed. She tightens my grip before returning to her task as though she wants me to pull her hair.

That’s not the case though. No, not as she pushes two digits within me and I am left with white knuckles on both of my hands trying to stay upright. Her lips massaging my clit, fingers gliding in and out.

Her mouth pulls off me, and cool air ripples over my clit. The sensation is too much as I feel her fingers curl within me. Pressing towards herself and sending lightning bolts crackling under my skin that ignite into flames, quickly spread like a forest fire. Consuming every fiber of my being. Water hits me, and I swear it sizzles and evaporates from how hot I am.

The flames are contained though. The worry creating a barrier between the fire in my cunt and the hollowness of my chest. Because I’m not sure I can survive losing Clarke again. Not after this. Opening my eyes that fell shut for a moment, I breathe a little easier because she is still there.

Her lips curl a little upwards while her tongue makes another strong swipe against me that have pleas coming out of me that I never thought would fall. I have always been the top. The badass cop that does not take any shit from anyone. Including a gorgeous girl between my thighs. _Because there have been so many of those._

Clarke smiles though, because she is teasing me. Not staying on one spot long enough for me to cum. No, she builds me up. My pussy clenching against her fingers so she pulls almost all the way out. My clit pulses so she moves from figures eights or slow circles around the outside. She wants me to beg. She wants me to beg for her, but once again my mind reels at what is happening with the girl of my dreams.

Clarke fucking Griffin. _What if I let her own me, and she decides to pay me back?_

I try to hold out. Grip tightening on the window sill, and hand pulling her in closer. Demanding her to stop teasing me. She moans into my cunt, sending a new wave of vibration through my clit. My abs tighten and hips are spread so wide that the cramp is beginning to form. None of that matters though, because I’m so close to falling over the edge of bliss that I don’t think my body will survive another teasing moment on her talented tongue.

“Clarke…” just above a whisper that falls from my lips. Her tongue presses flat and strong against my clit. “Just like that baby,” I encourage her, hoping that I’m learning the rules. She swipes against me with the same pressure.

“Fuck…,” I let out, hoping the single word will get me another swipe. The pressure is released. The rules set in stone.

“Me…” earns my clit sucked between her lips and tongue pressed.

“Please…” gets me further. Up and down, her stroke outside matches within.

“You’re a goddess,” comes out. My eyes screwed shut because her tongue has a rhythm and my hips are matching it. Each swipe, has more words of praise falling as my throat goes hoarse because I am no longer whispering, but screaming out for her.

Her pace steady and sure as I come apart with the words, “Please. Fuck. Me,” echoing off the shower walls. Her fingers still pistoning within me as I pull her up to meet my lips. The heat releasing as does all my breath with the taste of me on her tongue.

Tongue working my mouth just as she had fucked my pussy, and I feel a second wave more violent than the first crash against me. My body arching into hers, and head hitting the tile as the room darkens. Water ceases to fall and time stops for the moments that I clench against her fingers that she alternates dancing within me. Continuously working my pleasure point within.

My body is limp against hers. I’m certain if she pulls away my jelly legs will give out and I will be a mess on the bottom of the bathtub. She doesn’t release me though. Even when her fingers retreat from within me. Her arms wrapping around me, and body still pressing me against the wall while I choke. Fighting the oxygen that is no longer what I need to survive because I need her.

And she’s there.

Her lips caress my neck. Exhaustion almost too much that I feel the need to fight back in some way. I can’t though. Her arms wrapped around me and a soft hum of, “I got you, Lexa. Don’t worry, I got you,” has me just resting against her sturdiness. Resting, unsure what step to take now.

I don’t know how to proceed after this, the level of intimacy involved with showering together is unfamiliar. I mean she hasn’t even let me take her to dinner, even after I showed up at Aden’s school with flowers for her. I remember though that we have to get ready. We are suppose to be leaving soon to go to his orange belt ceremony.

“Need...Get ready,” I fumble out, drawing a laugh from within her.

Her hands come up my arms, and she starts to turn me into the water. “Hold still while I get all the paint out of your hair,” she tells me. The pink bottle of Matrix disappearing from my sight, and the familiar popping of the cap does not prepare me for how easily I can lay myself in her hands.

Her fingers work in the shampoo, and occasionally, I feel her pulling along strands that tickle a little, undoubtedly peeling away paint. She massages my scalp before taking the hand nozzle and carefully rinsing. She shields my eyes that can’t seem to waver from her movements.

Ease and contentment settle in her features. Her caring nature that she shows to everything coming out in the way she smooths in conditioner through my hair. Letting the cream rest in my hair so she can wash away the paint from my skin with the dark blue loofah.

Air escapes my lungs in a heavy sigh as she works her hands over my skin, but reality comes crashing in as she tells me, “I think that maybe it’s better if I don’t go tonight.”

I turn to her, and my eyes searching for the meaning behind her change of mind. I mean she was fine yesterday, and it's not like she doesn’t know Aden. I mean fuck she’s his principal.

“But we…” I start, then shut my mouth. I’m not even certain what argument I am trying to make anyways, but it wouldn’t matter. This is just Clarke. When shit gets real she clams up and withdraws behind walls so thick a nuclear apocalypse could ruin the world with radiation and her body still remain intact.

Turning away, the water washes away the suds and drowns out if she has anything else to say. I try to let it wash away the disappointment that she still doesn’t want me as more than apparently a friend with benefits but that coat isn’t paint, it’s a stain that imbeds itself within my skin, tainting my tan with a hint of gray. With the suds gone, I step out of the shower, leaving her to finish washing up as I search through her clothes for something presentable to go support my son.

I find a pair of baggy boyfriend jeans and at close inspection I realize that once upon a time these were mine. I turn them over and over. They’re faded and the material worn. I remember buying these to impress her. Proud of my fashion sense when I showed up not realizing we were going to a pool party with her friends, and jeans were not the appropriate attire.

Pipes scream and the water ceases to fall. She must be getting out, so I quickly pull on _my_ jeans and grab a Polis Academy t-shirt. The material of the shirt rubs my still erect nipples raw, but I hadn’t worn a bra due to to the support of the tank top from earlier, and now I’m regretting this action. I consider changing the shirt for another, but Clarke comes into the walk in closet, still naked and toweling her hair like the domesticity of this entire event is not entirely overwhelming.

She pauses for a moment, her eyes locked on _my_ jeans. They raise and meet my eyes, but I can’t handle the way I can’t read her expression. My chin falls and I scan the closet floor that is covered in dirty clothes and smells of Clarke. Just like my hair reeks as a temporary reminder of our time in the shower together.

“It’s the whole family thing,” she says. “Last time…”

 _Last time you left me_ is what she is going to say. _Last time you kissed me and then went back to her_ , is what she thinks happened. She never let me explain. Repeating those words and holding up her hands when I tried to tell her that’s not what happened.

Whispering, I answer my own fears, “You’re never going to let this happen with us, huh?”

Heavy exhale is all the answer I need, and I squeeze by her. My body pressing against the doorframe to touch her as little as possible. I can’t escape though when her hand closes around my bicep and halts me.

“I’m scared, Lexa. You come back into my life and I have to work to not just love you like I did. So simply and easily that when it was swept away it wasn’t the smooth machine pulling the cloth from the table. It was my feet pulled out from under me as you walked away with the rug and I lay on my back just trying to relearn how to breathe,” she explains. The imagery of Clarke struggling for air on her back and face caked in tears almost ends me.

I pull her close, unable to handle her hurting. Never having wanted to hurt her. My lips press against her forehead. A whisper is all I manage to get out without releasing six years worth of tears as well, “Time will show you that I will never, never leave you again. Even if you only ever let me be your friend.”

Her skin shifts and chin rises and falls against my chest. Her acknowledgement that she follows with, “I can’t… you mean too much to be my friend and we do that…”

Relief washing over me. She wants to be with me. More than my friend. Smile growing across my lips… until the rug comes out from under me with her lips, “Can we just… take a step back? Go back to being... friends?” She pulls her lower lip back with her teeth. The stark white a contrast to the plump pink lip.

The teeth and lips that just carried me over the edge, and now she wants to click the rewind button, pretending like it didn’t happen. Like she didn't tell me she has waited six years, _SIX YEARS_ , to have my face buried between her thighs. Six years and I blew my one chance on a mind blowing fuck in the bathroom.

_What did I do wrong?_

Chin falling, I nod. Not sure what else I can say. There is no point in arguing with her when she is being very clear that this is what she wants. That she doesn’t want me.

Swallowing my place in Clarke’s life, I lift my head to keep my chin parallel with the ground and set my eyes. “I need to head out so I’m not late for Aden’s match.”

She doesn’t move, doesn’t try to stop me. And damn it I want her too. I want her to tell me that this is all crazy and after all this time she doesn’t want me to just be her friend. That she knows I’m crazy about her and we can give this a real chance rather than fight the chemistry that we have always had.

I walk out of the closet. The irony not missed as I leave the room and make my way through the house. The paint all over the garage almost brings tears to my eyes but I can’t do this shit. Not like this.

The Charger’s seats are hot as I slide in taking a moment just to see if maybe she’ll come after me. That’s not Clarke though. Clarke doesn’t chase people. She makes her decisions and lives with the consequences, never second guessing them. Never regretting her decisions. And I’m just another choice in her life that is yet to be determined as a wise or consequential.

Pushing the start button, I immediately clear the oil change required from the display screen. The bass slams into my chest as the lyrics remind me of my place. _“_ _No matter how hard I try/ You’re never satisfied/ This is not a home/ I think I’m better off alone_ _.”_ Resting my head against head rest I realize I’m an idiot for still hoping she would come out.

Foot slamming into the clutch, I press the gear shift forward. Moving faster than prudent or necessary, but I don’t care really. I know all that bullshit about cops setting a better example but I need to drive away before I continue to sit and wait on Clarke.

I can’t keep waiting on Clarke.

_“No matter how hard I try/You’re never satisfied”_

I can’t keep thinking she’ll want me.

_“Even when you’re here/ This is not my home”_

I can’t keep hoping that I can fix the past.

_“I think I’m better off alone”_

Tires squeal as I take the turn too fast. The studio not far from her house, or my house, or Costia’s house. Everything within a ten mile radius continuously connected through our proximity. Like we were meant to run into each or avoid each other at every turn.

As a rookie, letting her speed down the road because pulling her over would have hurt so much to see her. At least it wasn't just me though. The way she would change directions if she saw me at the school, because of course Clarke would be the principal of the most promising K through 12 Montessori school in the area, and of course Cos would choose the place I have to see the woman of my fucking dreams that wants to just be friends every time I drop my kid off.

Four lights and two songs is how long it takes to pull into the studio parking lot. Through the glass, Aden holds a staff outward and twists it circular, trading it from one hand to the other. There’s no doubt the kid has talent. Definitely more than me at his age.

His green eyes widen when he notices my car, and I get out. I realize it's a good thing I didn't mention to him that Clarke may be coming. This way he’ll never have to worry about Clarke being more than his principal and the person he had dinner with that one night I put a dollar into the swear jar. It's not like he was overly friendly that night anyways.

Aden stands a little straighter when I walk in and his hands are held behind him. His chest out in pride at his soon to be accomplishment. Reaching out, I drag him forward into my chest and wrap my arms around him. Head close to his, I tell him, “Kick some ass.”

“You got it, Mom,” and I see me reflecting back from his eyes. The half of me that Cos carried but was me completely. Ruffling his dirty blonde hair, I try not to think about Clarke’s blonde hair. That the next time I see her, we will be… just friends.

 _Her_ throat clears behind me and I jump a little. The sound always irking throughout our entire marriage. The memory of disappointment that accompanied the sound because I was late, forgot the diapers, or even worse the anniversary. Slowly I turn, guiding our son between us and wrapping both arms around his neck. _Yeah, hiding behind your kid is real smooth_ , _Lexa,_ but his mom is scary when she has her serious face on, like right now.

“Hey, Cos,” I say with the smoothest smile I can manage with a broken heart.

Her head tilts and she looks into me. The only person that sees me this clearly is Clarke, and I shy away from her gaze. Focusing on the boy, I shove him a little back towards the mats. A match already having started behind where we stood. “Go get ‘em.”

“I got this, Mom,” he answers. His eyes were stoic and set. His mind focusing on his task before walking back and away from us.

We move toward the small set of bleachers, and take a seat. After two little kids beat the crap out of two other kids, Costia nudges me, “You look like someone decapitated your Little Foot plushie.”

I follow Aden on the sidelines where he practices a few slow punches. I try to stay completely focused on him, unable to look at her and prove her right. But honestly this may be worse. Having to pretend, it may just be the hardest thing I will ever do. Eyes falling to the ground, I shift my weight so that my arms hold up the top half and she gets the back of my head.

“What’s up, Lexa?” she asks again, this time her hand rubs a slight circle over my back.

“My dick,” I state quietly, but her hand stills and I can tell she is processing a retort. I shover her legs with one hand a little rougher than she hit me. She teeters a little, but then lands a hard punch to my shoulder.

“Oww!” I rub my arm and finally meet her eyes. Her knowing brown eyes that truly are beautiful… just not Clarke’s.

Her head tilts again. Her analysis stare that is searching me for information, which she finds far to simply. “You’re seeing _her_ again, huh?”

No answer is the appropriate answer. I don’t want to talk about it… let alone with _her._

“Not wanting to give it another try?” Cos probes further, a smile buried in her voice. She’d make one hell of a TSA agent. Guess that’s why she makes one hell of a district attorney.

I turn to her. Eyes narrow and jaw set. Not for our first staring contest, just the first of the night. “Back off,” I practically growl. Costia’s eyes shining with a hint of jealousy present. The same way she looked all those years ago when she learned of Clarke. Her eyes sharpening, but I can’t focus on it.

A touch to my forearm has me turning to see whatever fool had the audacity to lay their fucking hands on me. The anger fades though when I see blue and gold.

Soft pink lips that graze my cheek. Her face so close before she whispers, “I got scared.” My arm coming around her to hold her in place so I can feel the tangible warmth coming off her. To embrace her as a reality once more, even though she is scared and her heart is beating so fast that I can see the pulse in her neck.

“I won’t-” but her eyes are not focused on me. They are over my shoulder on the woman that was once my wife. Self awareness takes hold of me. I release her, and watch as she smooths out the black t-shirt. Her shoulders rise a little higher, and her face sets in a smile that I know she uses on all of her parents.

“Hello, Costia,” she says, extending her hand across me towards my ex-wife.

“Hello, _Principal_ Griffin. I didn’t expect to see you here,” and brown holds blue while I sit awkwardly in the middle. Cos makes no effort to take Clarke’s hand, so I take it instead.

Aden’s name calls away both woman’s attention as we all watch the boy walk to the center of the mat where a girl somewhat larger is staring him down. Her face scarred. Eyes so dark but vacant staring at my son with a coldness that has me gripping hard onto Clarke’s hand so tight that she shakes me lose some.

I don’t glance away as the match begins and the girl attacks with a fury. I can only hope that this is her release for her anger. Every strike she lands on my boy steals his breath. Aden, who kicks and punches with his own strength, but cannot match the blows brought by the seemingly older girl.

“Come on, Aden,” I whisper to him. Unable to really find my voice.

Costia, the ever better parent, yells with the a viciousness that only soccer moms are capable of. “Knock her feet out from under her!” and a few seconds later, “Punch her in the cooter!”

“Costia!” I say to her, glancing around at the other prim and proper karate moms that are glaring at Cos like she just committed the 11th deadly sin.

Costia doesn’t stop though, “Get her, son!” And my eyes return to where Aden takes a glance over at us. A glance too long that has his face twisting in fear as his feet come off the ground and he hits the mat with his small torso.

My son catching his breath on the ground while his opponent has her hand raised for a crowd that politely claps for her. but no one screams in acknowledgement. A tug in my chest at the familiarity sets in. The return of my own miserable years of accomplishment without a face in the crowd to smile for me whether I won or lost.

Something must click for Clarke too, because suddenly she is on her feet and clapping for the girl. She calls out, “Way to go!” A voice in the crowd that has the winner turning to look over the blonde congratulating her more than anyone else. A confusion of a furrowed bro,w and then the turning away at what must be a pity call out. The subtle look back that the girl gives tells me that even though Clarke is getting the dirtiest look possible from my son, her student, she probably made this girl’s day.

I glance over at Costia who is also glaring at Clarke like the biggest traitor ever, but there is more there than Aden can give. A disdain buried for six years that cannot be forgiven. Never permissible since the blonde helped me realize that I could never pretend to be happy with Costia as more than a lost love that now shared a son. Whose loss made me reevaluate my life and focus, change direction and move forward toward greater things.

Clarke turns suddenly, and looks guiltily at both of us. “Sorry,” she says, but then looks back at the girl that is standing alone with a water bottle as Aden limps his way over to us with his head hanging. “I just… no kid shouldn’t have someone in the stands.”

Aden comes up then, and Cos’s attention is on our son. The kid that will always have someone, if not an entire family in the stands backing him up. “Honey, you did really well,” she tries, but he is angry at his loss, and there is no hiding the subtle glare he gives Clarke for her betrayal.

“Hey, Aid,” I gather his attention, and I can see the worry of disappointment there. “Let’s get ice cream. All of us.” He looks at Clarke, but then to Cos, and I know. I know he wants us to try again. To be one family instead of the new normal Cos and I tried to establish. “Yes, Momma can come too,” I answer his unasked question.

Costia ruins it though. Her voice calm as she drops to a knee to be eye to eye. “Actually, I think you all should go. I need to get some work done, but your Mom will drop you back off at home after ice cream.”

“No, I want you to come,” he says, but she just holds a finger to his lips, and tells him that she will come another time. His head turning to stare into Clarke, as though his look alone could scare her away.

His glare shifts, looking up at me, but then travel to Clarke. The blame falling on her for Costia’s choice, and part of me wonders if she knew this would sabotage me introducing Clarke to him as someone more than his principal, but as someone I am seeing. I look at Clarke though, realizing that I am not even sure that we can classify what has happened between us as _seeing each other._

“Okay, dude,” I tell him. Grabbing his large duffle bag and slinging it over one shoulder. “Let’s get ice cream and then I’ll take you home.” I reach out to ruffle his hair as I did before the match, but he moves out of my reach and walks towards the door. Turning back to Cos, I squint at her and with a low voice, I ask, “You can’t swallow your pride for an hour?”

She looks back into me. Head tilted once more, her words knocking the wind out of me as she states, “You couldn’t keep it in your pants and not bring your rebound to our son’s karate match?”

My mouth drops open, unsure of how to even respond to her. The only thing falling out the obvious, “She’s not my rebound and you know it.”

Clarke is pulling at my arm though, as I tighten my grip on the bag straps. My face flushing with so much rage, I am not even positive that I will be able to contain it. “Lex,” she says calmly. The only edge in her voice, is one to calm, “Let’s go. Aden is already at your car.”

I look to her, and my hand comes up to her cheek. Thumb rubbing over the roundness, and saying to her this time, “You’re not a rebound.” To which she laughs. An unsteady laugh, but a laugh that has Costia walking away, and me still trying to cap the anger pulsing through my veins. “I’m sorry,” I add, but it’s not enough and I don’t know what to say to make what Costia just did not burn as bad.

She nods though, and I see something there that is not anger or irritation. More of a hurt that she seems to always carry in the depths of her pupils that could shine just a little brighter I think if I don’t fuck it up.

Our walk to the car is short, and I let the boy into the back seat with a push of a button, while for the girl I still owe the world, I open her door. Closing it only when she is safely within and running to the other side, where she has leaned over to pop my door for me.

I smile. My eyes closing just for a second as I hold the open door in my hand and briefly see Gus. _His bearded, burly face staring at me from the other side of the coffee table as I stood awkwardly before him, just ready for my first date. His thick sausage finger pointing at me, and shaking like a pistol as he said, ‘If you open her door, and she doesn’t lean over to do the same. You buy her dinner and take her home. Not worth the manners you have been taught.’_

The memory interrupted by a tired young man, who never got to know my foster father, yelling, “Come on, Mom! You are being weird.”

His cry followed by a level 4 snark from the passenger’s seat, “Yeah, Lex, booger colored ice cream awaits you.” And the smile is still there because I could get used to this.


	3. Chapter 3

~Aden~

I press my feet to her chair. Momma always yells at me when I do it on accident. She gets frustrated by stuff like that and there’s only hope that it's really annoying. I kick quietly. Just pressing with one foot. I see her stupid blond head turn a little. 

If she tells Mom, I’m going to be in trouble. Mom is watching the road and her lips follow the words coming out of the speakers. Mom will be really really angry if she finds out I put my shoes on her seats. 

I get my second foot on the seat a little lower than the first. The ball of my foot bouncing up and down.  She adjusts and leans forward a little. Pushing harder, I give it a harder kick. It thuds a little loud, and I freeze. 

Mom’s green eyes flash back at me and I nod to her. I expect her to nod back because it’s our thing, but she just looks at _ her.  _

Face hot and I feel like I’m sweating. I yell up, “Mom, I need air.”

She doesn’t answer me though. No, just keeps looking at stupid Principal Griffin. I want to kick her in the butt. Like really really hard in the butt. I can’t though so I kick the chair a little harder. Principal Griffin jumps forwards a little.  I don’t want Mom to be mad at me, but at the same point I want her to understand that this is not okay. 

My thoughts reel and I can’t seem to stop the tugging within me. I dont’ know what it is and it makes me stomach hurt. _  It’s all her fault that Momma didn’t come. She always makes her sad. Momma cries because of her, and I don’t want Momma to cry.  _

I kick her again, but this time she turns enough to look at me. 

_ Momma is probably crying now because she couldn’t come get ice cream because of her. Momma loves ice cream and Mom knows that. Mom shoulda told stupid Griffin that she can’t come because Momma loves ice cream.  _

The next kick is harder and she turns around to see me. Blue eyes measuring me like at school. Her stupid eyes watch me at school more than others. Her voice again too nice,  “Aden, can you please not kick my seat.” Too nice and she is so serious. It’s almost hard to hate her. But not really.

_ Momma doesn’t like her, so I shouldn’t like her too.  _ Staring at each other, its almost a contest and I can’t lose. _ I hate you, Principal Griffin. _

“Boy.” Just a word, but I know it’s ‘cause she is getting angry at me. I lose the staring contest.   “Your feet had better not be on my seats.” Her eyes sternly fix at me in the rearview mirror. I can’t stand to look at her so I just look down at my hands. “Sorry, Clarke, he’s just upset he lost.”

_ No, I’m not. _  She acts like I can’t hear her. They just start talking again about stupid stuff that doesn’t matter. 

_ It’s like I’m not even there. _ There’s a rolling within. A sense of reality that I can’t shake. Words I don’t want to accept. 

_ It’s like she doesn’t even want me because stupid Griffin.  _ Stupid Griffin is here and Mom can’t stop looking at her like her eyes have hearts. 

_ That’s just gross. Girls are gross and Griffin is gross and I just want Momma to be here. _ She would understand because she always feels when I’m upset. She knows and she hugs me and she lets me figure it out.  _ She would know that Griffin is a stupid traitor. She cheered when that stupid girl hit me.  _

Mom makes a sharp turn into the parking lot and I can see the red Cold Stone sign. It’s going to be dark soon, and I wonder if Momma changed her mind. I scan all the cars.  _ Maybe she came after all.  _

There’s a white Explorer just a row away but even in the dim light I know it's not Momma’s. Hers is dented and old. When she got it it smelled like old people and I was mad at her for getting rid of the nice car. The nice car that her and Mom bought and we took a picture in front of. She got rid of it though after Mom left us for  _ her _ . 

Still looking out for Momma’s car, I try to not hear  _ her  _ laughing. I can’t unhear it though. Just like I can’t unsee them kissing those years ago. 

_ How could Mom leave us for her? _ Left us for a stupid blonde woman that made her forget that on Christmas Eve we have family dinner and pj opening parties. Our Christmas movie and all of us fall asleep on the couch together waiting for Santa. 

Mom’s hand pulls on my shoulder. I look at her, wondering if she knows. Her eyes go to the parking lot, and she shakes her head a little. 

Breathing comes a little easier because she knows. She has to know what I’m looking for. “I don’t think she’ll come this time, bud.” 

I can’t help the way my chin drops a little. I want to be strong in front of her. I know she’s awesome and she fights the bad guys everyday and she always makes things fun. I want to be what she wants.

But the stupid blonde is holding her other hand, the hand not on me that should be in Momma’s.

Shaking off the hand on my shoulder, I move towards the entrance. I hold the door open like Mom taught me. I nod quietly to Principal Griffin. When Mom comes up to the door, I wonder if she can see how much I love her. I wonder if she knows I miss our nightly sword fights, even though Momma would yell at us. I miss everything about getting to see her everyday. 

Her hand touches my shoulder again and she smiles at me. A proud smile and I puff up my chest. It’s almost like I didn’t disappoint her today by being a loser. But it’s only for a moment. It’s only long enough not to be rude. Her eyes though follow  _ her.  _

With narrow eyes, I follow them into the store. My arms prickling in the cold air while I try to fight the scowl growing. Try to hide it away like Mom does. I don’t know why I bother though. It’s not like she would notice anything besides  _ her.  _

The line isn’t that long. When the dude asks me what I want I realize there is a benefit to Momma not being her. Mom will let me have all the toppings, but Momma would’ve said it would make me sick. She doesn’t understand that gummy bears that have been to my stomach with sprinkles and chocolate and nuts and cherries and whipped cream and marshmallows looks awesome when it comes back up. But Mom… Mom gets it. 

“What can I get for you?” I can’t really see the voice’s face. Don't’ need to though. 

“I want the pistachio ice cream with gummy bears and fudges and oreos and the rainbow sprinkles-”

“Aden.” It’s  _ her _ voice. “You don’t want too many toppings or you’ll get sick.”

My eyes are narrowed, and I turned really slowly towards her. I hope is horror movie scary, like the ones Mom and I watch on nights I stay at her apartment. Heart pounding so quickly,  I wonder if my mutation will come out. I want it to be like the dude Mom and I saw in  _ Deadpool _ . If I can possibly just mutate and my eyes shoot lasers and she wouldn't’ be here anymore. 

“Yeah, dude.” My head snaps up to Mom. “Momma wont be happy if you puke tonight. How about just three add ins.”  _ She  _ taps Mom’s arm. “I mean two. Two is really more than enough.”

My head twists and I look up at the signs. I can’t understand a lot of the words but I point up and say, “Like all of those have more than two.”

When I turn back to Mom, I tilt my head to the side. She is looking back at me, but her eyes keep glancing over at  _ her.  _ It’s like she is signalling me, and I realize she is asking me to just go with it. To not make  _ her  _ upset. Like telling me to eat less toppings will prove something to stupid Griffin. 

“Just gummy bears and sprinkles,” I tell him. Biting my cheek, I don’t cry. Big boys don’t cry. Mom says so all the time but it’s really hard. Especially when Momma’s crying. Momma’s probably crying now since she couldn’t get ice cream. 

The faceless dude puts my ice cream on the counter and I take it. The table near the window looks like the cleanest so I head over there and put my feet up on the chair across from me. I am saving it for Mom. 

Three bites in, the spoon falls out of my hand on to my white shirt. I look down and I am trying to wipe away the mess when I fall forward more. Sneakers slam to the ground, while my eyes shoot up. Stupid Griffin is handing me a napkin, and speaking. I don’t care what she is saying though. She ruined my shirt and sat in Mom’s seat.

“You okay, Aden?” 

Looking up with just my eyes, I try to mutate again. Nothing works though. 

No lasers. 

No daggers. 

Why can’t I be awesome?

Why can’t I be a strong superhero? 

Why can’t I be more than Aden Natblida? 

Why can’t I be better for Momma?

Why can’t I be enough?

No chance. 

No hope.

Taking in my shirt again, I try not to think about how mad Momma will be.

“Aden, I asked-” 

Her hand is on me then, and I want to pull it away. I want to scream and my face is getting so hot. “I heard you,” I snap more loudly than I wanted. My hand is making a fist, and I want to hit her. I want to hit her, but I can’t. Mom told me not to strike out of anger. Strike out when planned and effective.

She looks so nicely at me. Like the time the stupid big kid Tris kicked me in my weiner and made me fall down in front of everyone at recess. I want to still be angry with her. I want to feel better by making her hurt as bad as she hurt my family.

“Can you tell me what you are upset about?” She just keeps trying. Keep digging and doesn’t stop. A part of me wants to tell her. Tell her that in kindergarten I learned to hate her. But part of me wants her to suffer just like we have. Wants her to see that this is all her fault.

~~~~~

_ I just wanted the cookie. It was in the bag that she held and all I wanted was the cookie. She promised if I was good I would get it and I was good. I was sooo good. I ate all the bites and I didn’t knock over the juice. I did everything I was supposed to do but she still hadn’t given me the cookie.  _

_ Used my outside voice to yell at Momma. I yelled at her because she wasn’t being fair. She was being a meanie and I wanted my cookie. And I wanted Mom. “You’re mean. I wish you would go away. You’re mean because Mom would give me my cookie!” _

_ Momma’s eyes were hurt. She looked at the bag in her hand, and then lifted it for my five year old sized hand I ripped it from her grip. Tore the paper some but I had it and it was mine. It was mine and she gave it to me. It wasn’t Mom but it was a cookie and Mom loved cookies. I like chocolate chip but Mom loves peanut butter so I got a peanut butter one. I’d save her some is what I thought.  _

_ We were leaving the place where all the foods are. The place that had my cookie. Momma is taking me to some store with sparkles when I see Mom. She was smiling and I thought she was smiling at me. Three days since I had seen her last. Three days since we went to the zoo.  _

_ I remembered that I had half of my cookie for her. I remembered and I tried to run over to her. Couldn’t though. No way to move because Momma was holding my arm. She held me back from going to Mom.  _

_ She came over then. The blonde lady came over and Mom’s arms wrapped around her like they had been around Momma on the day with all the foods and Momma’s meanie family. She had yellow hair like me and she kissed Mom. Not a friend kiss but the one on the lips. The yucky kind.  _

_ There’s a cookie for Mom though and I needed to get it to her. I missed her when she was gone. I want to give her my cookie so she’ll come home tonight and play with our swords. Momma wouldn't play. But if Mom came home I knew she would play. Mom was always good at the play.  _

_ I tried to break free by tuggin. I tried but Momma’s hand around my arm tightened. I tried to yell at her. “I have to give Mom my cookie!” I tried to tell her.  _

_ Her tone stopped me. It wasn’t loud but it was scary and she kinda sounded like a bear but a snake too. “Stop it. Don’t you see.” Her hand was up and I looked to try and understand what I was supposed to see.  _

_ I turned back to her though. Her hand shook in the air, and she beared and snake talked me again. “She doesn’t want us anymore because she has  _ her.  _ Your mom doesn’t need us because she found that stupid woman to kiss and love instead of us.” Momma’s eyes are crying and I remember she was crying yesterday too.  _

_ I looked back at Mom and her eyes were in our direction. They were there and so I waved. I waved at her, to prove to Momma that she was just being a weird girl like Mom would say. A part of me really wanted to show Momma that Mom still loved her, but really I wanted to know that Mom still loved me. Momma said she doesn’t but how does Mom stop loving me? What did I do wrong that she went away. _

_ Mom doesn’t wave back.  _

_ She couldn’t wave back because her hand is busy being pulled by the stupid lady. The stupid hand that pulled Mom away and left me with Momma. Left me with Momma and Mom’s cookie. _

~~~~~

It’s been a long time since I saw Griffin with Mom. It was the last time I ate a peanut butter cookie. It was the day Mom came home and she said she wouldn’t leave us again. 

She left again though.

Griffin is still looking at me. Her face patient as she waits for me to talk to her. Talk to her just like when she wanted me to tell on Tris. To tell her that Tris kicked me. But I didn’t. I didn’t tell her then and I’m not going to tell her now. 

I repeat to myself:  _ It’s all her fault that Momma didn’t come. She always makes her sad. Momma cries because of her, and I don’t want Momma to cry. Momma is probably crying now because she couldn’t come get ice cream because of her. Momma loves ice cream and Mom knows that. Mom shoulda told stupid Griffin that she can’t come because Momma loves ice cream.” _

Turning around, I look for Mom. I look for her and look for her but I can’t find her. My chest gets a little tight. It’s like my tummy is in my throat. I don’t want her to leave me with stupid Griffin. 

“Where’s my mom?” I ask her as I get up from my chair. Ice cream still on the table melting, but it doesn’t matter because I need to find my mom. I need to know that she didn’t leave me again.

Griffin is so calm though. I want to kick the calm out of her some. She tells me, “She had a phone call and said she would be right back.”

Glaring, I do my bear and snake growl, “Why’d she leave me with you?”

“She said it would just take a moment.” She scoops another spoon of ice cream into her mouth and I see she has syrup, sprinkles and nuts. That’s three toppings. THREE TOPPINGS! “Are you angry with me, Aden?”

I know I have to answer her. I know I should tell the truth. I know a lot of things at the age of eleven. I know division. I know most of the states. I know how to spell words like Mississippi even though Bob and Richard say it without the middle ‘iss’. I also know that sometimes I have to pretend to be one thing to win the war. I know that Mom said never reveal all your cards, don’t know what it means but I know it. 

So I lie. 

My seat is harder than I remember it being. The way Griffin sits is stupid, and it makes lying to her easier. “You shouldn’t have cheered for Ontari,” I tell her. 

Her stupid blonde head tilts to the side and she looks confused just for a moment. But confusion shifts to something else. “Is that who you fought tonight?”

I glare at her. “Yes.” I tell her, “Mom doesn’t like traitors. She says they are worse than snitches. She says you have to pick a side and always be true. You showed you’re a traitor to the Natblida’s.”

She nods and I don’t understand why she is agreeing with me. I don't get it but she does what stupid teachers do. She explains. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings cheering for Ontari.”

_ Wait. What? _

Griffin’s eyes study her cup and then look up at me. The are blue. Like really really blue and I guess for a stupid girl she is pretty. A different type of pretty but still pretty. 

“No one cheered for her, you know?” It’s a question but I don’t know how to answer it, so I just look at my cup. I look at the seam running down the edge. The way little water droplets cover the edges of the cup. The pale ice cream with in is sorta melted and I wish there were nuts in it. I like almonds. “I know you didn’t win but your mom’s were there for you. I didn’t want her to feel alone.”

I look back up at her. Ontari goes to our school.  _ How does she not know who Ontari is? _ I don’t understand these things but I realize I know more than she does and I want to show her I’m smarter than her. “Ontari is alone. Some crazy lady stole her when she was a baby and like tortured her and her parents didn’t want her anymore so they let the police have her. That’s why she is so mean. No one wants her.”

_ Like Mom doesn’t want us because of you. _

I watch every movement that Giffin makes. The way her spoon stalls going to her mouth. How her eyes scan over my face. The softest tilt of her head to the other side. Even her mouth closes and her teeth comes out as she bites her lip. 

Lowering her spoon, she asks me, “How do you know Ontari? From karate?”

My turn again. I glance around looking for Mom. She’s outside but all I can see is her back. Turning back to Griffin, I ask her questions, “It’s mixed martial arts and Ontari used to go to my school but the people that took care of her didn’t like her so they sent her away and now she is a seventh grader at the big school down the street.”

“How do I not know her?” she asks like I would know, sitting back in her chair. Her eyes fixed on her ice cream. All I know is that she really is a stupid girl. 

There are footsteps. They are fast and I don’t even get a chance to look up before Mom’s arms are around me. She is holding me and then she is pushing me away and I see her eyes are red and her face is wet. It’s like she was crying but she’s not crying now.

I don’t understand, but she hugs me again. She is hugging me and I want to know why. Her chest is heaving. For moments she doesn’t breathe and then gusts of air flush over my neck. She just keeps saying, “Thank God. Thank God.”

Pushing a little, I get her to loosen her grip some. “What’s wrong, Mom?”

“Lex?”  _ she  _ says. 

Mom backs up and she is holding my arms. Her eyes on me. I’m the only one in the room it seems, but then the room is no more.  Everything disintegrating as she says, “Aid, there’s been a bad… bad accident and Momma’s hurt really really badly.”

The room is no more because everything is melting away. My body is tilting because the walls in the room shift as they drain away. Momentum pushing me towards anything and then music slightly loud. 

_ Am I awake? _

I blink. Lights are on around the street and passing by so quickly. My body is sitting upright. The belt is buckled. There’s just no memory of getting in the car. I ask over the speakers, “What kinda accident?”

She doesn’t answer me. They are talking and every bump and turn tells me Mom is driving us. Mom is driving us and Momma was in an accident. Momma was hurt in an accident when she should have been at ice cream with us. All she had to do was come with us but she didn’t because of stupid Griffin. 

_ Maybe it’s like the time that I sprained my ankle. _

There is not enough time to think. Not with Mom’s hand in mine. My arm pulled and I try to keep up. Each stride faster and longer. No time to think because we are running through the hall and doors are opening. Doors open because Mom has her badge up and she is shouting. People seem to know her, like she comes here a lot. Maybe when she is helping the city fight bad guys like batman. 

The last door doesn’t open though. Not with the man in green and the stupid doctor coat in front of it. His head shaking and Mom falling to her knees. She’s on her knees and she is trying to hug me. Her arms reaching for me, but I know my Momma is behind the doctor so I push past him. I push past him and through the door. 

A pair of arms wrap around me when I stop. Stop not far within because there is nothing but a table and a sheet. A table and a sheet and it's not like at the movies. Not like the television shows where I can see her. I can’t see her. I can’t see anything but a sheet and a lot of red. Red like the Cold Stone sign. 

Arms are pulling me and my face is blocked as the woman holds me. And all I can think is: “ _ It’s all her fault that Momma didn’t come. She always makes her sad. Momma cries because of her, and I don’t want Momma to cry. Momma loves ice cream and Mom knows that. Mom shoulda told stupid Griffin that she can’t come because Momma loves ice cream.” _


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I hate warnings because I like to think that I handle shit with tact and purpose. I will tell you flat out though in this chapter there are mentions and flashbacks concerning: drug abuse, murder, cutting, suicide, and gang violence. If you have read me before, then you know I'm going to make it dark because sometimes we have to walk through hell to understand the fleeting golden promise of good moments.

~Lexa~

My ass is numb from sitting on the tiled floor outside of Aden’s locked bedroom. I don’t know where else I should go in this house. Head against the painted wood with the tray of dinner on my lap. The bowl of macaroni and cheese has ceased to show any signs of heat while the broccoli is not firm but wilted and gross looking. I don’t blame him for not wanting to eat my cooking. I wish that was the reason my son at eleven years old lay in his room crying. 

Fingernails scrape against the ground as I try to dig in a grip. The bare nail in the wall across taunts me. A reminder of my failures in every aspect. Moving from the nail, I trace the light between the brighter patch of paint. To the left eleven inches, and then at the corner I let my eyes fall the seventeen inches. The rectangle the perfect shape of the cherry wood frame that once held our wedding photo. The place chosen so our son would see it every time he came out of his room. He would see his parents happy and know that relationships are possible. Even without the frame or the photo I can see the image. Each time I’ve sat here scarred the black and white image with only the purple in Costia’s dress highlighted into the back of my eye lids. 

I have been in this spot numerous times. The last time I was here the picture still hung as Aden kicked the wooden baseboard of his bed when I couldn’t pretend any longer. He didn’t understand why I couldn’t love his mother the way she deserved. I don’t blame him though. I’ve never seen a relationship work. I’ve never seen it last. Especially for people like me. Even TV can’t give me a chance, every LGBTQ character only in the sidelines and if they get too popular are murdered for shock value. That just the thing though, death isn’t shock value. It’s too real. 

_ Just like Mother.  _

_ Just like Gustus.  _

_ Just like Anya.  _

_ Just like Costia.  _

I can’t stop the creeping darkness unfolding within as I try to fight away the reality that everyone that loves me dies. Twisting and folding around my heart. Strangling it within my chest a little more as the fight begins once more. Just like when Cos held me, her belly large with my child as I slid down the wall trying to explain to her that Anya was dead. Her words telling me that I am not the reason all around me die. I am not the catalyst of suffering and pain.

_ She’s dead too _ , I remind myself. 

The tray flies from my lap and I hear the plate crack further down the hallway. There’s no point in looking at it as I hold myself this time. I can’t let anyone hold me this time, not Clarke or Aden. I know they both love me, and the last person that loved me died again. 

I always knew that loving me was a death sentence. 

With nothing else to do, I cry out to no one in particular, “I’m sorry. I fucking sorry that I couldn’t fix it.” I’m not sure what I would fix though. Trying to pick the ideal time to go back and change everything. 

Probably Gustus. There was no saving the drug induced death my mother inflicted on herself but I didn’t have to follow in their steps that led Gustus to follow in their deaths. 

_ The roach pinched between my fingers, I lifted it to my lips. Clouds of skunky weed filled the shack like structure. The lot of haunted house structures not in use due it being spring and not October. Teens angry and thoughtless surrounding the area. Hidden in the shadows as they consume and smoke their own elixir for demon relief.   _

_ Anya sprawled out high on the couch next to where I sat on the floor. My back between her legs. Her long fingers barely scratching at my scalp. Dingy chucks on my feet keep my attention, and for a few moments it helps me not want a blade. Not want to create the smallest crevice in my skin just above the line where shorts will hide. _

_ I took the last drag before I tried to pass it back to Anya. With my lungs full, the pained memory of the way Mom would pick at her skin as the meth ate her from within faded. When I closed my eyes I would see the way her tongue flicked and eyes shifted around looking for the next fix. I didn’t close my eyes for that reason.  _

_ Because I didn’t close my eyes, I saw Gustus come up in uniform. I saw the other kids from our local high school freak out. I saw the blonde kid who's a little too Justin Bieber for Anya’s taste reach into his backpack. I saw the knife before I could process, everything slowed by the weed.  _

_ Turned out the Bieb-a-like was not high like me and Anya. Turned out the dime bag he had sold us was nothing compared to the other drugs he had been carrying. His fear of jail for drugs out weighed the sixteen year old losing his life in prison for the murder of a cop. _

_ To the kid, Gus was just a cop trying to bust him and put him away. Just a dealer that had to face a choice and made the wrong one. He didn’t know that Gustus had a husband at home that would kick me to the curb when he found out that I was the reason we were there. He didn’t know that the girl running her fingers through my hair was his daughter and that she would remember her father’s dying words to protect, and go straight into a war out of high school and basic training where she came home a body with multiple bullet holes. He didn’t know that Gustus loved me like I was his blood, even though he found me broken and bloody from a fight that had promised me a family if I survived.  _

_ I barely survived, and because I survived, Gustus died following me. Anya died trying to defend her family and home from outside threats because she felt there was no hope for defending the country from within like Gus did.  _

I thumb over the badge in my hand. I’m not even sure how it came off my belt where is gets placed each and every day. The badge I took oaths to defend the ideals that made it a symbol that made Gustus proud. The badge Gustus died for wearing as he came to stop his daughter from following the foster bastard he brought home into a drug induced haze that swallowed the life of her mother. 

There’s not enough door or insulation or the gap just under the door is too big because I am reminded my moment of self pity cannot continue. I can’t fall into an abyss worthy of transformation into a better hero, like Anya’s death spurred me into become a cop. That forced me to remember he had looked at both of us when he said his last word. No, there’s no time for pain dragging me to floor boards and make me contemplate the choice to live or die. 

He has been crying for three days. Three straight days since I brought him back to the house that he has lived in his entire life. Unsure where else to go.

No matter what I do, I can’t seem to break into this secure world for him. His isolation within four walls that have protected him since the day he came home from the hospital. Green paint dingy and faded from all his years of life growing in the room that Cos and I made him. The tree trunk decals somewhat peeled away. The childhood forest we built off the then still vibrant memory of our meeting in the Prescott Mountains. 

His cries somewhat choked, but at least I can hear he is breathing. I can’t just go in, so I hit my head to the door instead and remind him I’m still there. All that I can do, because when I go in he just kept screaming. Screaming that Clarke killed his mother. That she shouldn’t have been there because then Cos would have gone to ice cream with us. The words of anger and rage pouring from him as though his skin was damaged in the accident that stole the woman who carried him into life. His pain raw, but I struggle between grief and relief. 

The relief was easy to explain. If there hadn’t been ice cream then Aden would have gone home with Cos. Aden would have been in the car that was sideswiped. That turned in a circle before crashing into a two foot diameter light pole. A light pole that should have survived the impact but didn’t. It bent at the perfect angle pinning Costia in the car. Pinning her in a position that allowed her to lose too much blood that there was no bringing her back. Yeah, Aden could have been in that back seat

Grief for her loss was harder. I am not bleeding like Aden over her loss. Instead, Costia feels like a void of nothingness within me. Unable to process that she won’t just walk through the front door and bitch at me for throwing the tray like a fucking child in a tantrum. That she won’t be slamming the dishwasher open in the kitchen at the sight of the sink overflowing with molding plates and pan. Screaming about the fruit flies bouncing around the grossness. 

A nail breaks a little and my eyes stare at the empty spot on the wall again. The frame missing because I left them after I promised I wouldn’t. Left them in the house that Costia’s family helped us buy. Left Aden with Costia because she was the better mother and I just kept fucking it all up. The home we built and I left because being a wife was scary when one doesn’t know how it’s supposed to work. Locking away the concept of love and making decisions with my head. 

Playing with my son and letting him be a kid for as long as possible. That’s what used to piss her off the most. I always made her the bad guy because I wanted to see Aden smile. I never wanted to see the tears like the night he buried his five year old face into dinosaur sheets.

_ “He asked me why you don’t love us anymore,” Costia hissed at me.  _

Her voice echoes still, and I hold my ears to try and block it out. My head hitting Aden’s door as I repeat, “I fucking love you. I never stopped loving you.”

_ Tanned hands pull the wedding photo down. Held it in my face. Moving me away where I stared at my son’s door covered in stickers and a No Bad Guys Allowed sign. His little cries came from within, as she attacked me.  _

_ “He watched you with that blonde bitch and told me you left us because you don’t love him anymore,” she told me.  _

_ My hand on the doorknob but I have no strength to enter. No, strength to go in and face my son that thought I no longer loved him. Nothing could’ve been farther from the truth. I couldn’t even say that I didn’t love Costia anymore. I would always love her, but I couldn’t handle watching more people I love die in vain for being a part of my life. I couldn’t keep hurting her by being a shitty parent or pretending that when we had sex I was happy.  _

_ Her finger traced over the bare skin of my arm. The touch soft and gentile. Just like every time she guided me to bed. Subtle graze had my head against the door and then turned to see her. Tears fell freely but I couldn’t face the brown eyes of my wife. I couldn’t when I know I would have crawled between the thighs of the blonde that Aden thinks I left for. The woman that ignited a fire I had never felt in the casual comfort of Costia’s arms as I carried her over the edge.  _

_ “I forgive you, Lex,” she told me. “Go tell your son that you are sorry for making him think you don’t love him, then come to bed.” They were simple instructions, and when the world was falling around me, they were easy to follow. Apologize to my boy and go fuck his mother to make her feel special.  _

_ I followed the first into the room where my blonde boy throws himself into my arms. The way snot ran down from his nose but wiped onto my grey tank top. Should have been gross, but it wasn’t because it was Aden. My son. My son, Aden who was in pain that I caused by not trying harder to make things work with Cos.  _

_ “I’ll be good, Mom,” he promised. “I’ll make Momma less mad at you and then you two won’t fight as much. I’ll be good so you will love me again.” _

The thing is nothing he could ever do would ever make me not love him. Nothing, at all. Even helping me learn she lied to me that night when she texted me my son wouldn’t stop crying from me. Pealing me from Clarke’s arms quickly as I couldn’t find an explanation just that I needed to go home. Four years later, I learned that it wasn’t my son that told his mother I didn’t love him anymore. It was my nine year old’s story for school where the Momma told her boy that his mother didn’t love him anymore. I may have been lousy at making sure the homework got done, but I always read the work he created. 

“I never stopped loving you!” I shout through the door louder this time. There’s a loud thud and my head bounces off the door slightly. I know he threw something at the door, but I don’t blame him. I know what the pain of losing a parent can do to someone. Tracing the slim scar down my wrist from how I tried to deal with the loss of Gustus. 

“Not even an option,” the husky voice comes from the hallway. Glancing up, I see her boots first and I trace them all the way to her face even though I knew it was Octavia just by the sound of her voice. 

Shaking my head, I tell her, “I’m not going to off myself.” Our eyes meet when I am brave enough. We hold there in silence. She won’t say she’s sorry or give me condolences. She knows better and so do I. The unspoken agreement that we would never give the practiced speech to the other about death when we have delivered the news too many times to people while hidden behind bullet proof vests. 

“Still crying?” she asks, which I can only nod. Eyes glued shut as I snort in the snot clogging my air way. “Well that’s to be expected.”

I slam my hands to the tile and let the pain remind me I’m still alive. When I turn back to my partner, I see her hunched over picking at the shards of glass. She doesn’t look up, just asks the next obvious question, “Where’s Clarkey?”

Staring her down, I try to decide how to answer. “He thinks she is the reason that Cos is dead. He doesn’t get that it’s my fault.”

Octavia freezes. Her head raising, while her body rests, a catcher’s squat with a hand full of glass covered in yellowed processed cheese. Eyes examine me like I’m a crime scene. Her head tilting back and forth, moving with each deep breath. 

The darkness in her eyes shows me how much she understands the pain. Her own mother dying early. Her life having a better outcome than mine though. Her life, while temporary hell with a step-father, led to an adoption which grew into a family that seems to never stop growing.  Complicated life experiences help her understand me. 

“If you ordered a hit, then don’t tell me. Next to my sister, you’re my best friend so I don’t want to hear it,” she smiles just for a moment, but it slips away, and then she holds up the glass, “Or if this is a poor me, I’m cursed and no one can love me or they die thing we both know I ain’t buying into your bullshit because I have been there.”

“I thought Monroe was your best friend?” I poke, just wanting it to be better and go away.

She shakes her head though, and her chin drops only for her eyes to glare up at me, “She’s still banging my sister. Cheated on her and then came back like a dog…” there’s a huff, and then, “They got busted like two weeks ago by Levi. Bitch still trying to steal my baby sister virginity.”

I watch her stand up and lean against the wall. Her fingers running over her hip bone that I know holds her own memories of self-hatred. “So let’s hear your stupid logic that I will quickly dispute and if I can’t, I’ll call my Mom and Nontu over hear to beat some sense into that curly head of yours. Nontu will probably braid that mop even to get it out of your face just like they did Levi’s the other day since the little snot butchered themself some bangs.”

Swallowing an excess of saliva, I confess, “I left her with the house and the bills. She traded in the Escalade for that piece of shit because I didn’t help her as much as I should have.” The tears fall then. They fall, scolding my cheeks with a salty burn as they go. “I… never let her trade it… gave her more…”

Glass smashes to the floor, and there are sticky fingers on my arms. Her hand pulling me up to where she stands just a few inches smaller than me. Her eyes staring hard into me as her arms shake me a little, “You can’t do this. You can’t blame yourself for a douche bag that was weaving in and out of traffic.” My body waves a little as she shakes me. “You need to get your fucking shit together because this isn’t your fault. It’s not Clarke’s fault. It’s the stupid kid that thought laws don’t apply to him. It’s his fault and you and Aden will have to stand up at some point.”

She stops shaking me. Her hands pull me inward until my head is on her shoulder. Arms so tight it's like I’m stuck in a machine but oddly it feels comforting. The tightness enough to help me calm my breathing, until my chest shakes and the tears fall and fall and fall and I aide in flooding the hallway. 

“Cry them out,” O tells me. “Cry them out because we have to show Aid that he can do the same thing and then get up. So practice now. It will make helping him that much easier.”


	5. Chapter 5

I’m not sure if the black pants and shirt are too much. Really I haven’t been to many funerals. I mean there was my dad’s but I don’t really remember what happened that day, let alone what I was wearing. There were the four students’ that were lost for various reasons. Four funerals to appear at. Shake the hands of parents as the numbness of still living allows for just pin prickles through various moments.

There’s no knock on the door when Octavia and Raven push their way inside. I know they’re here to check on me. I know they’re worried about me. I know that they know I’m being ghosted. 

“Ca-Larke-E!” O shouts loud enough that I’m sure future generations will swear the house is haunted when her voice echoes creepily from a burst spiderweb. “Bitch, get your fucking ass out here.”

I don’t move towards her though. Still just staring at the person in another deminsion, wondering if my make up is thick enough to hide the bags under my eyes from not sleeping.  Finally tearing my eyes from the reflection of another me, I check my phone again to see if Lexa has called. She hasn’t. I haven’t heard from her since that night. I haven’t seen her or Aden. Not like Aden would want to see me. 

Heels click against the tile floor that runs throughout the house. Do they know that I have tried to call Lexa, or that I have left Lexa messages. Do they know that I let her in again and she has left me again. 

Raven’s voice is calmer, and I hear her coming before she arrives. The slightest stutter between steps as her leg commands the self-developed brace. Her demeanor steady yet strong as she tells me, “You’ve been to funerals before. It will be okay and you look very decent in all black.” Her sweetness only lasts for a moment though. Raven’s inability to be truly serious and not sexual breaking free, “Like I shoulda hit that that ass when I had the chance.”

My eyes find the pudgy face in the mirror again. Catalouging each flaw that makes it make sense that Lexa wouldn’t call. Lexa wouldn’t even care to say goodbye again. Watching my reflection shake her head back and forth, I wonder if this other woman is disagreeing with my self assessment or if she is disagree with the thought of fucking Raven not sounding too bad right now. I mean once upon a time I had a fantasy about Raven. Once when I was lonely and wishing I could be close to someone like she was to her sister. Wondering if I could just become one with their family. I mean it’s not like you had to work hard to be one of their parent’s kids. 

_ Yeah, that doesn’t sound too bad.  _ I don’t feel like I have any fight left in me, so I just lay it out there for her. “Well I mean once upon a time, I would have fucked you but really it’s just ‘cause I want your parental units to adopt me.” 

Raven’s arms wrap around my middle as her chin rests on my shoulder. Her embrace makes me feel human again, and I realize that without Lexa, or school in session with kids always wanting to hug me and parents to shake my hand, there is no one in my life to actually touch me. 

“Oh C, you know they already have. I mean hell Mom is all like when is Mini-Me Griffin coming over for pizza night.”

My stomach growls and I shake my head again, “You have to bring up your mother’s pizza don’t you?”

Raven tugs at my shirt and presses on my stomach. Playfulness leaving her eyes are she pokes at my tummy. “You’re not eating again. What the hell Clarke?” This time it’s a hiss because we both know. We know that it doesn’t take much to fall into old habits. Especially ones that seem to still be creeping around. 

The mascara leaves a track down my face as the tear falls. Just one. The fucking bastard escaped even though internally I’m screaming at it to not fucking move. It’s running away like a traitor, and I’m not strong enough to stop it. 

Raven’s fingers graze over my stomach lighty and her arms tighten. “She loves you and you know it,” she tells me. “She’s not avoiding you because she thinks you’re not perfect. I have heard her talk about how much she loves your ass actually, which is only there from eating.”

I want to believe her. I want to also defend myself. I want to tell Raven that it’s not like that again. I want to tell her so much, but there are so many  _ but _ s. Like the:  _ but _ I don’t know Lexa at all.  _ But  _ Lexa is like no one I have ever met before, which makes her impossible to really understand. Her ability to always be there,  _ but _ also be so far away is beyond frustrating.  

I snort in the snot and shake my head again. Letting Raven support me as I stare up at ceiling and imagine what the sky must look like outside. I can see the rich sunlight blue. The glare bright against all things and thick with monsoon moisture. 

Swallowing thickly, I try to catalogue what I know. The grieving process. Lexa has to be in the process of grieving. A part of me wants to ask O for an update; however, my mind and mouth do not seem to be connected. 

“She’s left again,” I state. It’s out and then more comes out as freely as the tears down ruining my caked on make-up. “Just when I thought things may be getting real again something pulls her back to that house.”

Raven’s arms tighten. She doesn’t say a word. Just tightens her hold while my legs wobble. Voice matching the tremors everywhere. “I let her see me, Rae,” I confess. More traitors painting my face like a warrior in a blood filled battle. A battle for a heart that clearly isn’t mine. 

Choking, I try to make it better but I know. “I know I sound like a jealous bitch. It’s not what I mean, and I know that Aden needs to be near things that are familiar… it’s just… I mean… Fuck! I don’t know what I mean. Like that house seems to suck her within and I lose her every time. Like lose her back to Costia the threatening, manipulative bitch.” I hate myself for letting Costia get to me. Especially because she isn’t here anymore to threaten me. 

Raven’s mouth opens. I keep talking though. “I lose her right after I let her in. And this time I let her. I fucking fought my fears. I let her see me completely bare. I left her fuck me on this fucking counter.” 

A finger moves over the counter where a week ago Lexa had been there with me. The place she had gotten what she wanted and I recieved another heart break. “She had to leave… and… and she asked me to go. She asked me to be there with her and I was so fuckign scared but I went.”

Silence. 

Silence because the truth is I went this time. 

Silence. 

Silence because the truth is I would do it again. 

Silence.

Silence because the truth is I want her as mine.

Silence.

Then, truth. “And now she’s gone again. She gone again and I am fucking alone again.” My palm hits to counter. I want to get it together, but my sadness turns to spitting rage in seconds. “Again I’m alone.” My lips curls as speckles of saliva hit the mirror. “I feel like I will never be enough for her. Like there’s always something with that bitch that makes her leave me. Like I’m never going to be enough. And I fucking tired and it hurts and it’s not that I’m just not eating or that I am puking. I’m just… I’m just sick of being not good enough especially when it comes to that bitch.”

And again. 

Silence. 

Silence because the truth is I am hurting. 

Silence.

Silence because the truth is I almost gave up. 

Silence.

Silence because the truth is I always get here. 

Silence. 

Then, more truth. “And now I’m calling a dead person a bitch and that’s not fucking right but still I mean after all she came to office. To the school I helped build.” The confession that I had never uttered to anyone. “She came to tell me that she would be enrolling Aden because it was her fucking right but that I had better stay away from  _ her  _ wife. That I had better treat her son like a prince because if I didn’t then I must be taking out my aggression on her boy just because his mom didn’t want to fuck me anymore. And we never fucked, and this time… this time I let her in, Rae. I let her in and you know that I don’t just let people in.”

I search her dark eyes for something, but all I find is sadness. Like she too is still managing a loss that cannot quite be reconciled. I remember then though that Raven had lost her own fucked up love to another woman once. Just happened that woman was Octavia’s mom… it’s fucking crazy how complicated things can get but also what magical shit can come out of them. 

Raven says nothing. Maybe she just doesn’t get a chance, but it’s the other half of their tag team that seems to have answers, and I wonder for a second how much interference she has been running with Lexa. “Yes, she was a bitch.”Octavia almost growls.

The roll of her voice almost like she is at a breaking point. That maybe I just pushed her too far, and I’m not sure why.  “Look I get it you had issues with Cos. Hell! I have issues with Cos. But she’s dead and Lexa needs us. I get it that Lex has been distant and I know she hasn’t answered your messages.”

For some reason the knowledge that Lexa knows I still care makes me feel alittle lighter. It shouldn’t, but it doesn. “Her fucking world is falling apart though. Her world with the only person that she had left to call ‘family’ hating her makes picking up the phone to call the woman that is part of the reason Aden hates her pretty fucking difficult.”

She takes a breath and I wonder where all of this is coming from. She bites again though, “She does not need you talking about how much of a bitch her dead ex-wife is.” Head titling I look at her in the mirror. Still relying on my reflection to face them, because giving them my face is scary. But, I’m not sure what is happening. 

“O, I just-”

“You are hurt because you let her fuck you and you didn’t get your happy ending. But she didn’t fucking either. She is locked in her own hell. Her own self imposed isolation trying to pull together her son and you tried to call her but seriously get the fuck over yourself.”

This is the point where I expect there to be more silence. There isn’t though. Because life doesn’t stop for someone to truely realize the ramifications of their choices of decisions. The world keeps moving and plans made prior to life altering moments have a way of catching up with one. 

Like the sound of a preprogramed ringtone. The voice of a woman on the other line that explains to you the details of a situation that makes all other aspects of life take a back seat. Including a funeral for an ex-wife that manages to get between me and the woman that I know I love. 

~~~~~

Not looking at the teen’s face when it’s busted open in more than one place is one of the hardest things I think I’ve ever had to do. I didn’t want to be that person that stares, so I just briefly glanced over the swollen eye and split lip. Fought the urge to pull the frail figure against me. Didn’t run my hand over her head as I told her its going to be okay and she is safe. Safe from who ever put their hands on her. 

Tris isn’t that type of girl. The coldness etched into every feature of her face is the hardest part.. The steady indifference. Lack of any acknowledgment concerning the pain she must be in. 

“Tris,” I try to begin. Not sure where I am going though, I give up on any other words. 

She doesn’t move. No hint of acknowledgment for the fact that I said her name. Almost as though it is not her name. Just print on a form that was handed to me by a smiling CPS worker. A blank document due to the “police investigation.”

Rain drizzles from the summer sky. Droplets speckling the windshield just enough that I have to turn the wiper blades on, then quickly off again. The drive taking longer than it did to leave Octavia and Raven in my house as I rushed to the CPS office for my new beginning that did not include the lithe brunette who didn’t need me to help her pick up the pieces of her own new reality. 

In the growing darkness surrounding the car, I realize that we are about to pass the last of the food places before the house. The dashboard clock reminds me that it is dinner time for the rest of humanity. Unsure if CPS fed Tris or not, I try to catch her eye line in the reflection in the window. “Are you hungry?”

Again, no answer. 

Tris’ silence is frustrating to say the least. I’m not sure if I just give this kid space or if I try to explain to her my expectations of how her time with me will be. Neither seem like a great path. There should’ve been a section in all those classes called “How to pick up the kid from the CPS office and not make an ass out of yourself.” No such luck though. 

The inside of my cheek hurts from my teeth digging repeatedly into it. A nervous habit that I can’t seem to stop. The coppery taste hinting my tongue reminds me that my cheek is in fact a part of my body, makes me halt the gnawing. 

The chewing though was the only action keeping me from feeling like I may vomit any moment. Needing something to fight against my body’s repulsion to another very real possibility of failure, I turn the radio up some. I mean it’s not like the kid is talking to me. 

Michael Jackson’s words filter through the speakers weakly. The song that reminds everyone to be a little better. Stand a little stronger. Internally, I sing the words as more of a mantra than a song. 

_ I’m gonna make a change. _

A steady rhythmic chant building me up from the mess of tears and fears of inferiority from this morning. The steady conditioning begins to build my confidence as I round the corner into the neighborhood that my house lies within. My house with a bed for this girl that is safe from whatever hell it is that led her to the point of willingly allow a group of teenage girls pumple her and leave her in an alleyway. 

Chest filling with lost strength as I prepare to explain to her the few rules of living at my house. THe familiarity of the space gives me again a sense of ownership over myself and my life. 

“I’m apart of something now,” she practically whispers. Words sharp like a safety pin burst my balloon of confidence. Leaving me empty and weak at the reality that this kid sees no future in everything I built. 

With the car pushed into park, we both stare at the house. I have no idea what her thoughts are. Only my own returning self doubts fill my being once more. My chest reinflated with the poisonous gas that keeps me in a constant state of unrest. 

I try to twist her words. Considering that maybe she spoke of being apart of my home. Being a part of my family. Just a facade. A momentary delusion. A filament of hope that is dosed with a heavy dose of reality. 

With hardly any courage left, I look over at Tris. Her cold grey eyes move to match my stare. Each cataloguing the memory of the other in this moment. It’s only then that I have the courage to tell her, “Today was the first day of the rest of your life.”

The brow over her one still usable eyes scrunches just a little. I can tell this kind of throws her and I consider explaining what the statement means. I don’t though. I want her to think about it. 

I decide to add after a moment, “Tomorrow will again be the first day of the rest of your life. I guess I can only hope that you use each day to make the rest of your life mean something.”

With a little more confidence, I step out of the car. I remind myself that today is the first day of the rest of my life.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos please please please.


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